


highs and lows

by ckaster



Series: fantasy high outtakes [4]
Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, High School Football, Largely fluff, hargis cameo!, i can't believe it's taken me this long to write about sports, sophomore year post-hargis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21597676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckaster/pseuds/ckaster
Summary: "'I just don’t see the point,' Fabian is saying, white-gloved hand cutting through the air. Basically Gorthalax’s pre-game plan had consisted of ‘just run right over them, they literally will not stop you, if even one of these kids has a positive Athletics modifier I will hang up my whistle,’ so while they are mostly huddled up, they’re largely skipping the pretense of a huddle and just kind of loosely gathered in groups waiting for kickoff. 'We’re going to win, they don’t have to be obnoxious about it.'"Or: It's high school football season, and Gorgug loves his friends.
Relationships: Fabian Aramais Seacaster & Gorgug Thistlespring
Series: fantasy high outtakes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1549888
Comments: 14
Kudos: 171





	highs and lows

**Author's Note:**

> thanks avi for the beta! 
> 
> hope you all enjoy <3

“FA-BI-AN! FA-BI-AN! FA-BI-AN!” 

“I am not looking,” Fabian says, adamant. 

“Looking at what?” Gorgug glances over and spots what Fabian is probably definitely not looking at: the rest of their friends waving at them from the stands, Riz balanced precariously on Kristen’s shoulders and windmilling his arms, Fig in the middle of getting her cigarette snatched by one of the faculty sitting near them and lighting up another one, Adaine with a sign that says ‘That’s my adventuring party!’ on it in practical block letters. 

Gorgug waves back, because hey! Friends! Zelda’s there too, and he gives her a wave also, but like, a less aggressive one. A nice wave, not a friends wave. Even though he and Zelda are friends too, just, like. Whatever. She gets a nicer wave. 

The cheer of  _ FA-BI-AN!  _ dissolves and almost instantly resurges as a cheer of  _ GOR-GUG! GOR-GUG!  _

Gorgug loves his friends.

“You know damn well who I’m not looking at,” Fabian snaps. “This is  _ embarrassing.” _

Ragh comes bounding up to them, looping an arm around Gorgug’s shoulders and bashing their helmets together. “Man, fuck being embarrassing, I think it’s  _ cool _ that all your friends are out here supporting you guys,” he says. 

Gorgug grins at Ragh, feels his tusks catch on his upper lip. It’s probably getting close to time to think about deliberately wearing them down again. “You’re great, man,” he says, and Ragh grins back. 

“You’re dope as hell, Gorgug,” Ragh says, and offers Gorgug a fistbump, which he accepts. 

The Homecoming bloodrush game has set Aguefort practically—not literally, although who knows, really—alight with activity, the cheerleaders (and Gorgug checked before the game, they  _ are _ actually cheerleaders, not summoned elementals) hard at work stirring the student section into a seething mass of high schoolers that writhe and stomp on the newly renovated metal bleachers. In the night air, their breaths puff out in clouds of white, starkly outlined by the bright lights shining down on the field; on the visitor’s side of the field, Hudol players gather in a huddle around their coach, a willowy looking elven man clutching a clipboard who looks just as lost standing on the edge of the field as Hargis does, who’d managed to secure the coveted position of Aguefort bloodrush team manager, and looks like he has no clue what he’s doing. 

Gorgug is pretty confident he’ll figure it out. Hargis is cool as hell. Gorgug is also pretty confident that the elven Hudol coach is not his father, just to clear the air on that one. 

“I just don’t see the  _ point,”  _ Fabian is saying, white-gloved hand cutting through the air. Basically Gorthalax’s pre-game plan had consisted of ‘just run right over them, they literally will not stop you, if even one of these fuckers has a positive Athletics modifier or Strength saving throw I will hang up my whistle,’ so while they are mostly in the same area, they’re largely skipping the pretense of a huddle and just kind of loosely gathered in groups waiting for kickoff. “We’re  _ going  _ to win, they don’t have to be  _ obnoxious _ about it.” 

“Obnoxious,” Gorgug repeats, a little disbelieving but not a whole lot. “I mean, that’s kind of in the party name.” 

“We’re called the  _ Bad Kids, _ not the  _ Obnoxious Kids.”  _

“Yeah, I just mean—” 

“Yes, yes, yes, I under _ stand _ . However.” Fabian flaps his hand again. “It’s awfully distracting. So I am  _ not looking.”  _

“Okay,” Gorgug says. He would think that maybe the few locks of hair that escape Fabian’s helmet in the front or the fact that Fabian is, like, missing an eye would be more of a sticking point in terms of distraction, but hey. He’s not Fabian. 

Is Fabian his dad? 

Wait. No way. That’s not possible. Gorgug refocuses. 

Ragh knocks their helmets together again and cracks his knuckles. “Al _ right,” _ he says, voice like the rumble of hundreds of students jumping on metal bleachers if the sound was shoved through the Hangman’s engine. “Who’s ready to play?” 

As Gorthalax predicts, they do tear through the Hudol Hellions like a, like a tank running over a stack of wet tissue paper. Gorgug actively feels bad about some of the tackles he’s making, because, well, he’s  _ fully aware _ that he is a six foot seven half orc barbarian and a large majority of these other players are—not. They are not six foot seven half orc barbarians. Ragh is, Ragh is for sure, but these other players are  _ not, _ and Gorgug does feel bad. 

Fabian evidently does not, or not enough to show it, at least: the first goal he scores, off a rush through the gap in the Hudol defensive line that Ragh and Gorgug plow for him, is greeted with a wild cheer from the crowd as he spikes the ball onto the brand spanking new turf and rips his helmet off to give the other students an obliging bow, hair all messy and nasty from sweat but—as Gorgug joins Ragh in jumping on Fabian from behind and sending him stumbling—wearing a giant grin. 

* * *

Predictably enough, the Aguefort Owlbears blow out the Hudol Hellions by about a bazillion to zero. Gorgug stops keeping an eye on the score as soon as the referees look like they’ve more or less acknowledged that the repeated trampling of Hudol’s most athletically gifted students is not as much of a concern as the imminent collapse of the Hudol coach, who looks like he’s about to pass out from a sickening-looking mix of fear and shame. 

“You played really well,” Gorgug says afterwards, while they’re just kind of sitting around in the locker room, catching their breath and starting to think about the process of getting out of their pads and various bits of gear. 

Coach Gorthalax trundles by, wings tucked tight against his body so they don’t scrape against the ceiling, and peels off a tiny owlbear sticker off the his sheet of stickers, passes it to Fabian, presumably in acknowledgement of the generous handful of rush goals Fabian scored. In his clawed red hands, the shimmery silver sticker sheet looks comically tiny, but it’s become a bit of a tradition: you play really well, do something good, you get a sticker for your helmet. Fabian has a ton of stickers, probably more than Gorgug, mostly because Coach Gorthalax is the kind of coach who believes in positive reinforcement and is bribing Fabian into feats of teamwork and equitable on-field leadership with stickers. 

It’s working, so.

Coach Gorthalax also hands Gorgug a sticker, which is cool! “For that really crazy thing you did at the end of the second, with the screen? Nicely done, Gorgug. Attaboy.” 

“Thanks, Coach Gorthalax,” Gorgug says, meaning it, and Coach Gorthalax goes. 

Fabian has his sticker on the tip of his finger, his helmet pinned between his knees as he visibly considers where he should place the sticker. “You played really well too,” Fabian says, not looking up. 

Gorgug pastes the sticker just above the one he’d received for sacking the Mumple quarterback last week. “But you played, like, super well,” Gorgug says. “I mean, you should get another sticker, honestly.” 

Fabian does that little half chuckle he does, like he’s about to laugh but decides not to commit to it all the way, and says, “Thanks, Gorgug.” 

“For what it’s worth,” Gorgug says, “and, I mean, I don’t really know how, to say this, so I’m sorry if I’m doing this wrong—” 

“Whatever you’re going to say, Gorgug, just say it—” 

“I think your dad would be proud of you,” Gorgug says, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You were very captainly and all that stuff. So.” 

Gorgug’s perception and insight are not spectacular, but he does notice how Fabian goes utterly still at that, eyes going a little distant. Besides that he can’t really read too much into Fabian’s body language, doesn’t know whether it’d really make sense even if he could. 

Neither of them speak for a very long time, even as the rest of the team hoots and hollers and have their own personal celebrations scattered across the locker room, sweaty-faced and triumphant. 

“He would, wouldn’t he,” Fabian says, at long last, the ghost of a smile on his face. Unlike how he’d looked out under the stadium lights, grinning and flush with adoration, in the fluorescence of the locker room he just looks like a high school bloodrush player, grass stains all up his knee and elbow and sweat plastering his silver hair to his forehead. His sticker is still on the tip of his finger—he hasn’t moved to put it on his helmet yet. “Captain of the Owlbears, taking a resounding victory over the Hellions in a critical battle.” 

“That’s not really what I meant,” Gorgug says, “but yeah, sure.” He’s not really sure how to vocalize what he was really thinking, doesn’t know whether he can back up any of what he’s thinking with anything other than the kind of gut instinct that tells him that a parent should want their kid to be happy and successful in the endeavors that they set out to achieve, and proud of their accomplishments, no matter how big or how small. 

He shrugs off the thought, too tired to consider pursuing it further. “And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you too.” 

“Thanks, Gorgug,” Fabian says again, and it’s softer, a little less performative. He places the sticker on his helmet, smooths out the material with careful fingers to make sure there aren’t any wrinkles or bubbles. “That, uh, that means a lot to me.” 

Gorgug grins. He’s so glad he has friends. “You’re welcome,” he says, and thoroughly means it. “Hey, did you hear Riz yelling ‘that’s my best friend!’ after that third rush goal?” 

“The Ball was yelling  _ what?” _

**Author's Note:**

> very long end notes here we go 
> 
> 1\. the title is a reference to that one riverdale quote, you know the one. 'the triumphs and defeats. the epic highs and lows of high school football'
> 
> 2\. i really cannot believe i looked at a piece of media that has a made-up sport and DIDN'T immediately go "this is my time to SHINE." i really went eight thousand words without saying a single thing about bloodrush. (most of you are going to be very confused about this, and this is because i have strong enough feelings about how quidditch is portrayed to write an entire, functional rulebook for quidditch. not for the quidditch that real people play, but for fictional, in-universe quidditch. I Love Sports.)   
> 2a. i desperately wish i knew more about how bloodrush works.  
> 2b. the stickers thing is a real thing some real football coaches do.
> 
> 3\. for those of you who are on holiday like i am at the time of posting: i hope you make use of this break to the best of your ability, however you celebrate it! 
> 
> let me know how i did! your comments sustain me <3


End file.
